Sixty hours…
Vincent has avoided me like the plague for exactly sixty hours now.
I watched the large clock in the sitting room chime nine o’clock in the morning, and tried to keep my eyes open. The two sleepless nights I had, thinking of how badly I messed up had begun to catch up to me.
See, it wasn’t that Vincent was mad at me for yelling at him. But it was apparent and painfully obvious that he was trying to have as little interaction with me as possible. From staying clean of my way, to avoiding eye contact when we spoke, the message had been sent across to me loud and clear; You are mentally ill and I don’t want to get exposed to your ‘crazy’ ever again.
My eyes drooped close, and when I opened them again, the long pointer of the clock had moved from twelve to three, showing that
